


A Song With No Name

by Kemmasandi



Series: Coming Clean [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Mechpreg, Other, Sparklings, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of Orion Pax, Austral States Consultant for the Iacon Hall of Records. Luckily for him, it's one of the ones that go very well indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song With No Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eiseedoesit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiseedoesit/gifts).



> **Title:** A Song With No Name  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Megatronus/Orion Pax, Alpha Trion, OC sparkling [Pallas]  
>  **Word Count:** 4206  
>  **Content Notes:** Past mechpreg, sticky smut, domestic fluff all over the place, headcanons ahoy and a bit of sly worldbuilding on the side
> 
>  **Summary:** A day in the life of Orion Pax, Austral States Consultant for the Iacon Hall of Records. Luckily for him, it's one of the ones that go very well indeed.
> 
> My dear friend eiseedoesit has been having health woes lately. I am only a small kiwi and can't do anything about that, but I can write some gratuitous nasty robot dickings for her enjoyment. 
> 
> So I did. :V (Along the way it kind of turned into an 'a day in the life of' fic. Still not sure how that happened XD)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it, love! ♥
> 
> (I said I had a MegOP fanbaby for every purpose. Here's another, expressly for squeeing over things with good friends.)

…

_the fire in my heart, don't go out yet_

_I don't want to forget this heat in my chest_

…

A SONG WITH NO NAME

 

Orion slept past the end of the dawn shift that morning, a rare occurrence.

He rose up out of a dreamless recharge to the sounds of his giggling child in the main room of the apartment, a steady thump that shook the foundations of the ancient Pits apartment block, and the low murmur of a voice that could only have belonged to his mate, the bitlet's sire.

In the gloom, a smile crept across Orion's face.

He lay still for a moment longer, eavesdropping on his family. Pallas' voice was high and piping, the individual words indistinct through the thin walls. Occasionally Megatronus' deep rumble would interject the stream of babyish babble. Pallas would pause for a moment, giving the question his full attention before replying.

The door was closed, but a thin finger of weak electric light crept through the crack between door and frame, reaching across the thermoblankets piled around Orion's frame.

The room was small, and not what he'd had in mind when he imagined having a family as a younger mech. The sounds, though, were perfect.

Except for that dratted thump. Orion hauled his aching frame upright, jamming a fist behind his backstrut and massaging the lumbar curve. He must have recharged in a funny position again. Ever since he had given birth, it seemed, he had begun to notice these things more.

He crossed the room and peeked out into the lounge. Pallas' tiny frame stumbled here and there on unsteady pedes, Megatronus' imposing silhouette sat protectively between him and the apartment door.

Orion opened the door. Megatronus' optics flicked up at the movement, but lowered again after a moment. Pallas reached the storage cupboard underneath the workroom bench and steadied himself on its handle.

“Good morning,” said Orion. “How long has that noise been going on for?”

Megatronus lifted his ventral armour out of the way and vented heavily. “A while,” he replied, his optics still on Pallas. “Two joor, perhaps. Two and a half. I gather that there are roadworks outside.”

“You're still tired,” observed Orion, taking in the sloping line of Megatronus' shoulders. “You shouldn't have let me sleep so long.”

Megatronus' scarred mouth twitched upward at the corner. “I would be tired regardless. I decided instead to ensure that you got the requisite amount of recharge to get you through the day, since you are the one with the regular job, and while you work, I might convince the little one to recharge with me.”

“He's still a little young for that, isn't he?” asked Orion. “Ratchet said that he wouldn't require recharge until he was half a vorn old.”

“He will not require it, but he may come to like it,” said Megatronus. “The sooner he gets used to it, the easier it will be for him to adjust when he comes to need it.”

“Oh, I see.”

Pallas toddled out of the workroom, holding his hands out to his carrier. Orion bent and scooped his son into his arms.

Pallas was a warframe, like his sire. He was growing fast, well-nourished and spoilt rotten by both his loving parents and a very dedicated great-grandsire in Iacon. His optics were big and blue, everything about them inherited from Orion. The colour was calming. Orion half-thought he could lose himself in them.

The ceiling light flickered, then dimmed.

“Power outage,” Megatronus grunted. “They come and go.”

Orion frowned. “I might have to dig out the temporary generator. I don't want to risk my console in a surge.”

“I thought that got stolen?” Things of small value regularly disappeared from the apartment. The locks on the door were ancient and easily hacked, and the denizens of the Pits were nothing if not opportunistic. The only things of value that they kept at any given time were Orion's remote workstation, which was wired into the wall, and the generator which he used to power it when the lights went out, which was not.

“Grandsire sent me another.” Orion went into the workroom – really a corner of the main lounge with a bench and a small sink beside a standing washrack – and retrieved his morning ration one-handed. Pallas curled into his chest, his small forehelm pressed against Orion's armour.

“That's generous of him,” said Megatronus, a touch dryly. Orion gave him a pointed look over his shoulder, but said nothing.

He drank his ration in three even gulps, making a face at the metallic tang in the liquid. The residue of the smelting pits got everywhere. If there was one thing he missed about Iacon, it was the fresh, clean taste of the energon.

Pallas' hands grasped at his collar.

“Patience,” Orion cooed, smiling down at his son. “I'll feed you in a moment.”

“'Ama,” burbled Pallas, grabbing at Orion's face. “Wan' drink now.”

“I know you do,” said Orion, swaying in place. “Give me a moment to process some for you.”

Pallas' face creased. “Wan' _now_.”

“Don't be stubborn,” rumbled Megatronus. He rose, giving Orion an intense, if tired, stare. “I have an out-of-championship match this midnight shift. First energon only, you will be pleased to know.”

Orion's spark twisted. He had once hoped that Megatronus might give up the gladiatorial arena once Pallas was born. It wasn't as though they needed the prize money, after all; Orion's job as a consultant to the Iaconian Hall of Records paid more than enough to support the whole family. But the arenas were indelibly mixed up in the Kaonian outcaste revolution. Megatronus' participation was as much political statement as part-time job.

He had attempted a compromise – where possible, he no longer took part in death matches.

This was something, Orion supposed.

He gave Megatronus a worried smile. “I'll wait in your prep room, as usual.”

His mate's EM field flexed and shimmered with anticipation. “I will look forward to it.”

* * *

Orion was absorbed in work that afternoon when there came a sharp knock at the door.

He looked up, instinctually searching the room for Pallas. But his son was in the berthroom with Megatronus, curled up rather adorably in the crook of the gladiator's arm.

Orion crossed quietly to the door, and peeked through the security hole. Pink and purple plating greeted him, vibrant and well-cared for beneath the soot of the Pits.

He unlocked and opened the door, surprise whirling in his spark. “Grandsire! What are you doing here?”

“I did say that I would visit regularly,” said Alpha Trion, somewhat stiffly. He stepped inside, ducking his helm under the doorframe as Megatronus often had to do. “I wanted this occasion to be a surprise, but it has not worked out exactly the way I had planned.”

“Well, I'm glad to see you anyway,” said Orion, closing and locking the door behind him. “How are you doing? And everyone else at the Hall, are they well?”

Alpha Trion found Megatronus' big old armchair in the corner behind the door, and draggied it out into the center of the room, closer to Orion's workstation. Megatronus would throw a fit if he saw it. “I am perfectly well. Jazz sends his belated congratulations, and will be down to visit as soon as he can get a few days of leave.” He dug for a moment in his subspace, and drew out a bottle of chilled energon, deep purple like the strongest highgrade. “This is for you. I also have rather a lot of spiced midgrade you may like to take off my hands.”

Orion smiled, and took the bottle. “Thank you very much. Megatronus and I will enjoy it very much.”

Alpha Trion's mouth twitched under his facial array. He didn't much like Megatronus. The feeling was mutual. They had been getting better about it since Pallas had been born – Orion liked to think that the sparkling had brought out the best in them, but in his more cynical moments he acknowledged that it was probably something more to do with running out of things to argue about.

It wasn't as though he hadn't anticipated the feud. Alpha Trion had always hated disorder and chaos; Megatronus thrived on it. One was of the light and towers of High Iacon, the other from the deepest darkest pits of Kaon. They were polar opposites, and it had been inevitable that they would clash.

Orion shook his helm. “I don't have anything for you, Grandsire. If I had known you were coming, I would have done something.”

“Do not worry,” said Alpha Trion, raising a hand as if to forestall Orion's worries. “You are my only grandchild. Giving to you is its own reward.”

Orion half suspected that guilt played a hand in that. For all his stubborn unwillingness to accept change, Alpha Trion was well aware of his own faults. He simply had trouble in working around them with regard to others.

In some respects, Megatronus was much the same. Perhaps that was why they didn't get along.

Orion smiled at the thought. “Still, I'd like to do something nice for you.”

“You already do, every moment you are alive,” said his grandsire. His blue optics dimmed, as though he was engaged in deep thought. “You give me hope, and that is a rather rare thing these days.”

“How so?” Orion glanced at the bedroom door, conscious of Megatronus recharging o the other side. “It sounds as though you have something specific on your mind.”

“The Council has passed a bevy of new security laws that undermine the basic foundation rights of individuals.” Alpha Trion sighed. “For 'the sake of maintaining societal order in these trying times', it is said. I doubt that much will change in practice for those of you down here, from what you have told me, but the difference is that now your treatment will be legal.”

Orion was silent for a long moment. “As if the Public Interest Registration Act wasn't enough.”

“They're afraid, Orion.” Alpha Trion steepled his fingers and laid them across his knees. “They are aware that they ride on the back of a vast and unwieldy beast, and now they begin to notice that that beast is stumbling. I do not believe that the individual reform movements have come to serious notice yet, but that may change in the near future. I came to ask if you were prepared for that.”

Orion met his optics. There was fear in them, more than Orion had seen directed at him in a long time. His grandsire's EM field was tightly furled, but shuddered every once in a while.

Orion reached out to comfort him. “This building belongs to an ally of ours. This entire floor, the one above, and the one below, are preferentially rented to Megatronus' trusted allies. Soundwave – you haven't met him, but he's a professional snoop, makes Jazz look lazy – keeps an eye on everything that goes on in this entire neighbourhood. We have six different potential exits from this building alone.” In fact it was seven, but Megatronus had told Orion to always keep one in reserve. “Megatronus is a not inconsiderable protection himself, and as you know, he has been teaching me to hold my own for at least long enough to get away. There has been danger long before now.”

“Legality makes many a cautious Enforcer bold,” said Alpha Trion. “I simply worry that that will be the case here.”

“I understand, but we cannot back away now. I've made my choice, and I will see it through until the end.”

“What about Pallas?” Alpha Trion asked. “He is a child. He cannot make the choice yet.”

Orion swallowed an instinctual retort, stung. “Pallas is my son. I will look after him.”

Alpha Trion must have realised the tone his words had taken. He bowed his helm and raised his hands. “Forgive me; I did not mean to insinuate otherwise. I simply wished to make sure that he was provided for in case that you or Megatronus were ever... indisposed.”

Orion sighed, leaning back in his chair. Alpha Trion was no doubt imagining a dystopian future in which they were incarcerated or disappeared. It was a legitimate concern, if what he was saying about the Council was right.

“We have a plan for that, too,” he admitted. “If Soundwave is able, he will take immediate custody of Pallas; if he is unable, either due to situation or death, it passes to Shockwave.”

Alpha Trion sat bolt upright. “That maniacal tinkerer?”

Orion smiled bitterly. “We have few mecha whom we can trust. However, I meant to ask you whether you would be willing to act as a primary guardian, in preference of Soundwave. Pallas would be much safer with you, in Iacon.”

“In conjunction with Soundwave, do you mean?” Alpha Trion had not relaxed entirely. No doubt he would demand to meet Soundwave before he returned to Iacon.

“Yes – I do not think that Megatronus would agree to give you sole custody, but he trusts Soundwave. Soundwave, however, has a great deal to be doing, and in the even that Megatronus and I were... indisposed, he would likely be next on the authorities' hit list.”

Alpha Trion stared at him. “You're asking me to share custody of your son with a... doubtless now, but certainly in that case, felon.”

“Soundwave was downcast for exposing corruption among the executive branch of the Kaon State intelligence agency,” said Orion, very calmly. “Perhaps that is a felony in law, but I find it difficult to hold it against him.”

Alpha Trion shuttered his optics. “I see. You have changed, Orion, but only a little.”

The resigned note in his voice made Orion smile. “How so?”

“You always did have a strong moral core, but now you have the strength and determination to act accordingly, even where in contradicts that of established society.” His grandsire gave him a fond look. “It will cause trouble for you and yours, but I hope you know that I am very proud of you regardless.”

Orion ducked his helm, pleased warmth blooming in his chest. “Thank you, Grandsire.”

There was a noise from the berthroom.

“Is that Pallas?” asked Alpha Trion. “I thought he was a little young to be sleeping.”

“And Megatronus,” said Orion. “I don't think he recharged well. He was playing with Pallas when I woke up this morning.”

“Hmph,” said Alpha Trion – plainly approving, but annoyed at himself for it. “If that is the case, you may wish to check that Pallas does not disturb him.”

Orion laughed, and got to his feet. “I may indeed. Welcome to Kaon, by the way. I see it treated you well on the way in.”

Alpha Trion looked down at his soot-streaked frame in disgust. “You call this 'well'?”

“Well, the alternative is being mugged on a street corner,” Orion pointed out. “You can use the washrack if you want. Megatronus and I showered last night; the cistern should be nearly full again.”

He peeked in through the berthroom door. Two pairs of optics stared at him out of the darkness; one blue, one peevish red.

:: _You didn't tell me he was coming_ :: said Megatronus. :: _I would have endeavoured to be out of the house._ ::

:: _Coward_ :: returned Orion, shaking his head. :: _I didn't know he was coming either. He had important news to share._ ::

Megatronus grumbled. :: _Please tell me he's staying in a hotel._ ::

:: _He did last time, so I assume so. Just be patient, Megatronus. We'll find time to ourselves._ ::

:: _Get him to watch Pallas while we're at the arena_ :: said Megatronus in a burst of inspiration. He fondly stroked his son's helm, and Pallas' glowing optics dimmed in contentment. :: _He may as well earn his keep._ ::

* * *

Orion omitted the fact that it had come from Megatronus when he posed the question later. As it turned out, Alpha Trion was happy to oblige.

He left the apartment in step with Megatronus. It was the early midnight shift, and on the surface the sun would be dipping toward the horizon at the end of the Austral Pole's long axial day. But the Pits were far underground, where no natural light reached. Outside the apartment block, yellow and orange fae-light lanterns floated above the narrow lanes, and the sluggish red glow of smelting pits and foundries stirred the heavy smog in the air.

Orion's fans stalled for a moment on the stairway down to the open lane in front of their building. He stopped to cough, mentally resigning himself to another medics' visit. One's filters clogged up quickly in this environment. Megatronus seemed not to notice, but Orion was not made of such stern stuff.

He caught up to Megatronus, grabbing his hand to keep track of him through the crowd. Megatronus glanced down at him in mild surprise, but made no comment.

The gladiatorial arena was the ultimate form of what was basically organised street fights. Most bouts took place in sheltered dead-end streets or internal courtyards, wherever there was enough space for the ring and a few hundred spectators. Megatronus had started off in these back-street fights to the death. Somehow, he had survived long enough to make it to the big leagues.

They descended further into the Pits, down an abandoned subway station between two factory foundries. The heat was almost enough to scorch. It was cooler inside the station, but no less hectic – opportunistic shops lined the old rail tunnels, and junctions had been opened out into the trunk towers that held up the city above.

Directly below one of these junctions was the Pit.

There was already a crowd gathered around the edge of the skylight, watching the bouts going on far below. Megatronus shouldered his way through the press of people, faint complaints in his wake. Orion followed him down three sets of stairs into the back of the arena stands, and further down, into the gladiators' domain.

Megatronus' prep room was a concrete-walled cube about six mechanometers wide. There was a low bench, a mesh armchair, and not much else. The light on the ceiling was an orange fae-light of the cheapest kind.

Orion turned to Megatronus. “Good luck.”

Megatronus glanced away, unsmiling. Then he sat down in the armchair and pulled Orion onto his lap, arranging him to his liking.

“How about a kiss to seal it?” he asked, his voice deeper, rougher than usual.

There was something about an approaching fight that excited him deep in his spark. Orion had found it unnerving at first. Then he had come to terms with his lover's nature. Megatronus would always enjoy pitting himself against powerful forces, testing his own strength against that of others. Such was antithetical to Orion's own peaceful nature, but once he had understood the roots of his instinctual distate, Megatronus' combative side had been easier to accept as part and parcel of the mech he loved.

Orion smiled. “Of course.”

The kiss was rough and biting, the movements of their bodies together frantic. Orion knelt across Megatronus' lap, his knees on either side of the gladiator's hips, and Megatronus held him pressed close against his own body, chest to chest and belly to belly. They had to angle their helms uncomfortably to kiss despite their height difference, but that scarcely mattered. Megatronus made little rocking movements underneath Orion, grinding their hips and thighs together.

“How long have we got?” asked Orion, breaking the kiss. He dialed open his fans, dragging in cooler air. The sound was all but drowned out beneath their rumbling engines.

“Five breem,” answered Megatronus. “Time enough, don't you think?”

His servos were already wandering between Orion's legs. Under his array panel, Orion's valve swelled and clenched in anticipation.

Orion made a show of uncertainty. “I'm not sure...”

Megatronus' voice dropped another notch. “Then let me prove it to you,” he rumbled into Orion's audial.

At the same time he ran his claws around the seams of Orion's array panel. It popped open beneath his ministrations. Orion gasped and buried his face in the curve of Megatronus' thick neck. A rumble of pleasure, and those claws delicately investigated the stretch and give of his channel.

Orion had been ready since before they left the apartment. He pushed himself down onto Megatronus' digits, rolling his hips so that the knuckles stimulated the outer nodes around his entrance.

Megatronus gave an approving groan. His spike pressurised, the shaft rubbing tantalisingly against Orion's thigh.

It had been far too long since they had done this.

Orion braced one hand on Megatronus' shoulder, and wrapped the other around the slick shaft of his spike. Charge leapt from nodes underneath his palms, making the sensornet in his servos tingle. He imagined the sensation inside him, and a throbbing pulse of electricity went through his array. Lubricant trickled down his thighs, dripping from Megatronus' wrist.

Time ticked away. Megatronus fit a third finger into Orion's valve and spread them apart, carefully stretching his internal calipers with patient thrusts in and out. Orion closed his optics and rode the movements on instinct. He did what he could with Megatronus' spike – it was big, and there was only so much he could do with one hand and most of his mind on what was happening between his legs. Megatronus revved, the vibrations transmitting through their armour into Orion's frame. He must have appreciated the effort.

Then Megatronus' fingers pulled out. He took Orion by the hips and guided him forward, so that Orion's entrance hovered over his hard spike.

“How long?” asked Orion. He leant forward against Megatronus' broad chest, his legs trembling with arousal.

“Three breem,” said Megatron, and the smirk in his voice was audible. “Still plenty of time, if we're quick.”

He brought Orion down onto his spike, slowly, giving him time to adjust to his girth. Filled utterly, Orion could do little but rest his helm against Megatronus' chest and gasp for air. Every time, it was so intense, stars igniting under his armour and a storm low in his belly. —He'd always had a size kink, but this wasn't that. At least, not completely. Something about having Megatronus on top of him, underneath him, inside him, always made him come undone.

Megatronus rolled his hips in a languid thrust. Nodes connected inside Orion, charge flashing between their joined arrays. Orion groaned, grabbed the upward edge of Megatronus' fore shoulder plates and held on for dear life as he was lifted, then slammed down onto Megatronus' length again. It was rough and unrestrained, and he felt completely at Megatronus' mercy.

There was no better feeling in the world.

A movement, and Megatronus stopped. Suddenly his hand was over Orion's mouth.

“Be quiet,” he said, his optics blazing and his field alight with mischief. “You'll bring the orderlies down on us.”

Orion scrambled for a reply. “They're out there right now?”

“Somewhere,” his gladiator said, smirking. “I'd forgotten how loud you could be.”

“Oh, Primus.” Orion stuffed his knuckles into his mouth. There was no time for embarrassment – Megatronus began again, setting a brutal pace. Orion found himself moaning and crying out, hyperaware of every sound he made and anticipating discovery each time his hand slipped from his mouth.

He overloaded without warning, curling forward against Megatronus' chest and shaking so violently his armour rattled. His processor skipped, HUD blacking out for a moment before flashing back online. His chronometer blinked the time serenely at him from the lower right corner.

Underneath him, Megatronus went stiff and voiced a quiet moan. Hot fluid tracked up through Orion's valve, and his gestation systems came online for the first time since Pallas' birth.

It would be temporary. Orion was not yet ready to give his son a younger sibling, and neither, he knew, was Megatronus.

Beneath him, Megatronus' optics came back online. He smirked up at Orion. “One breem left.”

Orion shook his helm. He looked around the room, attempting to ignore the way Megatronus' devil-may-care expression made him want to go another round or two. “Please tell me you have wipes in your subspace. I don't think I came prepared.”

Megatronus produced the requested items. He held still as Orion lifted himself off his spike, then gathered him in his arms and stood.

Orion grabbed onto Megatronus' shoulder for balance. “I have legs, you know.”

“Very shapely legs, which I would like to get between and make you scream,” rumbled Megatronus. He strode over to the bench, and lay Orion down on top of it, then produced a wipe from the packet and cleaned the worst of their fluids from Orion's thighs and groin. His hands lingered a little longer than was innocent over Orion's sensitised valve. Their optics met, and Orion couldn't help but give him secretive smile.

“You won't watch me fight?” Megatronus asked. He drew back, cleaned himself up, and then the combative energy was back. “Not even for a silly show match with blunt swords and no guns?”

Orion's smile faded. “No, I won't. But I will be here when you come back. That I promise.”

Megatronus nodded, and turned for the door. “I will hold you to that, my little mate.”


End file.
